Motherland
by Flutist Girl
Summary: Everglow's sequel. Sephiroth's family was given the years they needed to heal and flee from the wounds of the past. But they could not escape. Now, because they were blinded by peace, the trap of an old enemy has cost them more than they could ever pay.
1. Blood Trail

Motherland - Chapter One

No attempt had been made to conceal the red trail that snaked through the halls of the ShinRa Electric Power Company's science department. If anything, effort had been put into making it more visible, more readily seen. For insidious reasons that no one could fathom, the faster, more direct route that the attacker might have taken hadn't been used; he gave up speed so they could drag their victim across the white tile instead of the maroon carpet of the lobby.

Smeared handprints, painted in crimson against sterile white, and the marks of the boots of the gravely wounded captive vainly scuffing for leverage as he was dragged to his death, were not the only distinguishing marks. Beside the red stream marched clear footprints; the shoes had been dipped in ink as black and sticky as tar before the attack. The red and black continued forward, up stairs, (three flights of them), through halls, around corners, deftly weaving through a maze of rooms and laboratories.

There, in the room that used to be Professor Hojo's private laboratory, Rufus ShinRa was pinned to the mako chamber with a strange, archaic and chillingly sinister spear.

The laboratory received no damage that couldn't be wiped away with a wet cloth, perhaps bleach to stanch the red from the few fabric items, and if anything, looked even cleaner than usual. Surfaces that might have been covered with dust from years of disuse were gleaming eerily. It was _too_ clean, as if, despite the impossibility of it all, the laboratory's former inhabitant had been here only hours ago, or perhaps still lingered in the shadows…

The building, all 68 floors of it, was locked down. Every Turk was called to seal off the area. Every exit, from the front door to the top story window, was guarded by at least three ready guns and able hands to fire them.

It hadn't been enough.

Somehow, the attacker had gotten away.

The worst thing about the whole matter was that no one had been unaware for long. Security cameras might have been the first logical thing to disable if an attacker was going to do something so dire to someone as important as the president of the largest company on the planet. He had done, in fact, the complete opposite. He had tampered with the security system, but only to focus every camera on the building on what he was doing. Anyone who had remote access to a television or radio, not only in the building, but in all of Midgar and Edge, saw and heard everything with horrifying clarity.

The entire world witnessed the murder of its ruler.

The man wore no mask, nothing to hide his face, and often looked directly into the camera. Everyone had a flawless picture of _everything_: his eerie, nearly colorless ice blue eyes, his jaw-length black hair with a rebellious streak, the grotesque tattoo of a speared bird with broken, obsidian wings visible through his open jacket, just over his heart…

It meant nothing. Not his appearance, not his chilling voice, not his footprints, fingerprints, or the DNA extracted from his own blood he had used to seal a scarlet letter which also had samples of his handwriting, even his strange weapon had been left for their examination. They had all the evidence, _everything_…

But this man did not exist.

In all the records of every man ever to live in Midgar, Edge, or the cities surrounding it for hundreds of miles out, there was not a single record that matched.

Maybe he didn't exist, but despite his obscurity, he had openly wounded, perhaps fatally, Rufus ShinRa, through what was thought to be impregnable security.

It had happened before the planet's eyes.

It had been a drawn out, dramatically prolonged attack.

Evidence was everywhere.

It didn't matter.

No one knew whether the president of ShinRa would survive. Most speculated from the blood trail alone that he had surely been bled dry. Those who came into Hojo's laboratory saw further complications. The spear went entirely through him, shattering his shoulder into shards. His white coat was nearly entirely dyed red and brown with his fresh and drying lifeblood. He had been pinned to the glass prison that used to seal Hojo's victims of science inside searing mako, cracks in the glass from the initial blow gave way to splinters when they ripped his body and the spear free. Many of them only tore him further, to say nothing of how much damage the barbed spearhead did to his organs when they ripped it from him.

The scarlet letter, sealed with a few scant drops of the attacker's blood, laid forgotten on the table, but it was a useless, though harrowing token. The letter and the message the assassin had screamed to the video camera were the same.

_"I will have my vengeance, Gloria Dawn! Mark my words, I'll make you pay in blood for your treachery!"_

Rufus spoke only two words through the blood dripping from his lips as they rushed him, maybe in vain, to help.

"Warn…Sephiroth…."

* * *

A/N: It is here at last. WHOO!

Eh, I have AP exams, so probably no writing for a week? I will try. ugh...I hate tests....

The Marked is up as well...


	2. Insidious Foreigner

Motherland - Chapter Two

The assassin sprinted most of his planned escape path, but it hadn't been necessary. If he had been taught one thing from in his time in Gaia, it was that no one would search the forgotten caves beneath the earth for him. They would scour the land and the skies, but no one would find him so long as he remained beneath their feet.

No, what pulled him on was exhilaration, not necessity.

He ran on in the darkness of the earth, blind as a bat, but knowing these caverns so well that he did not need his eyes. It was an ecstatic liberty to be able to escape the eyes of the entire world in the faithful darkness. Here, in the caverns, no one could see the blood on his hands, the badge of the President of Shinra that he had taken as his memento of this hunt. He laughed, oh how he laughed, but no one would hear except for the mute creatures of the underworld, too primitive to betray his secret.

"Gloria! _Gloria!_" was his victory cry.

He did not know how long he ran, nor did it matter. Time was nothing in the depths of the earth that knew neither rotations of the earth, the rising and setting of the sun, nor patterns in the stars, or phases of the moon. He eventually steadied his pace, recognizing the murmuring stream and the smell of its mineral-rich waters.

He waited until he was ankle deep in its warm caress before he flicked his fingers to give life to a tiny flame. With a breath, he broke the tiny fire into nine parts, which flew to nine torches of their own accord, filling the cavern with a warm light.

"Ah, Master Verian. Very good, sir."

Verian took no heed of the formal, courteous greeting. "I hunger, Mevel."

A thin, lanky figure gave a stiff bow. "Yes, my lord. At once, sir."

Verian sighed, completely satisfied with his day's work, and seated himself in a padded chair of dark maroon velvet. He raised his feet to rest them on a footstool, casually kicking off his boots, and then pushed up his sleeve to the shoulder, baring an arm of two shades. The darker portion extended from just above the elbow to his fingertips, a healthy tan of a strong noble. At that one point, though, was a clear line where a sickly pale began, splayed with the shadows of the old bruises and the flares of the new. Around this deformed shoulder was laced a crude leather brace, held with buckles of rusted iron. With the other hand, Verian began to unlatch these buckles, easing the straps off where sweat had pasted them to his skin, and rubbing to fade the marks where the straps once had laid.

"Mevel," Verian called darkly, a clear warning.

"Y-Yes sir. It's nearly done."

Verian smirked, amused by his servant's gangly, ugly stutter.

Mevel had once been Princess Emmalyn, born of nobility, the heir to the throne of some-land-or-another, (Verian never could keep his conquered lands straight), but Verian's conquest had ended her high status. Through his mercy, he had spared her pathetic life on the grounds that she learn to serve him. She was a good girl, submissive and obedient, and a good cook besides. Once, she might have been beautiful, but Verian saw to it that she was kept in a physical state fit for a servant. She was painfully thin, her plain earthen green dress and cream colored apron hanging off her gangly shoulders. Her hair was a cocoa brown, once as smooth and silky as the waves of the sea, flowing to her hips, but now it was crudely cut just below her ears, tangled and dull. Eyes once of verdant jade were now a plain, ordinary shade, lacking depth and luster.

In her hands was a clay bowl filled with her day's labors. In her wanderings in the caves, she had happened upon a small bunch of mushrooms. She had sautéed those in butter she had churned with her own two hands from the cream purchased from a farmer. Those were finely chopped and mixed with long grained rice from their stores brought from their homeland and further seasoned with dried herbs that also had been stored since their departure. On the side sat two white eggs, which had been a rare find. These she had boiled, peeled, and sprinkled lightly with sea salt.

"We have a little of the berry juice we made in the forest," Mevel said softly. "Would you like that tonight to celebrate your victory, sir?"

"Bring it. It will do, but I expect finer of you tomorrow. Understood?"

"…Yes, sir. You are very gracious, my lord."

But they both knew that Mevel would find no berries or fruits in this cavern, and tomorrow she would reap the punishment for the underworld's infertility. He saw her hands begin to tremble, and looked forward to tomorrow. It would be good to remind her exactly how much she was worth to him.

She scrambled off to get the remaining nectars of the tropical berries. Perhaps if the amount remaining was inadequate, he wouldn't have to wait until tomorrow.

She brought an entire flask though, which made him a little sour. After she had served him, she made as if to sit on the dusty ground, keeping still and silent until he was finished so she could gather the dishes, but Verian bade her to stand. "Remove my brace," he commanded simply as he began to eat.

Mevel bowed slightly and then rushed forward to humbly accomplish the task. Her hands were still that of a noblewoman's; soft, milky white, tender.

"Does it pain you, my lord?"

"It doesn't suit me. I feel worse a cripple with it on than without it. Tell Silas to fashion another."

Her felt her tense; he knew how uneasy she felt around the magician, but she would do it because she knew what would happen if she didn't. "Yes," she murmured. "My lord."

"And be quick about it. I'll not have my wife view me for the first time in several years to see a cripple."

"Of course, sir. Right away, sir."

Mevel slipped the brace off his shoulder, gently tugging the lower half of his arm off with it. When the contraption was completely removed, Verian was left with a pale, disfigured shoulder and a stump of an arm that ended just where the elbow should begin.

"More of the salve, Lord Verian, for your infection?"

Verian grimaced, but nodded his affirmative. It had been years since he had lost his arm, _years_, and still it would not heal, causing him pain that by all reasoning should have vanished. Silas's dark herbal balm was the only cure for such an overpowering ache.

"Lord Verian," the servant girl pleaded humbly as she spread the salve. "Perhaps if you gave it time to heal before fitting it with a brace…"

Verian backhanded her, sending her sprawling on her back, clasping a bleeding cheek and lower lip. "Mind your tongue _girl_. You know less than nothing."

She was trembling now, like a little child. "F-Forgive m-me, my l-lord. I-I meant only to h-help—I mean," she corrected herself hastily. "I…I spoke irrationally. Forgive me. Please, Lord Verian, f-forgive your worthless s-servant…"

"I tire of you. Go and tell Silas I will be with him shortly. Tell him that I strike tonight. Bring me whatever he has ready."

"…Yes, my lord," she squeaked out, unable to hide her terror of running an errand to see Silas.

She hurried away, gathering fistfuls of her dress and holding it up so it wouldn't drag and get dirty as she ran. Verian frowned. It wasn't like her dress was worth salvaging, and it was filthy anyway. The only reason for such behavior was either habit from her days as royalty, or worse, she was being openly defiant in her own way.

Either way, it told him one thing through that small, insignificant gesture.

He hadn't fully beaten the Emmalyn out of Mevel.

Not yet, anyway.

* * *

Mevel came back white as a sheet. In her hands was a bundle that she held awkwardly, away from her body, distancing herself from it as much as possible. Verian smirked, not caring if she saw. As he had predicted, a trip to Silas's workshop would put her back in her place.

"H-He s-s-says…"

"Spit it out, girl," he seethed, his patience growing thin.

"This is the A-An-Animus," she said, too quickly. She swallowed heavily a few times before she held out the bundle helplessly to him, begging him to take it himself, but he waited for her to deliver it to him, just to make her terror deepen. She handled the small glass bottle like it was lethal poison, dropping it in his palm and then shirking away. She noticeably breathed easier when it was out of her palm.

It was a good sign that she was so afraid. It meant she knew what damage it could do; that it was as dangerous as he had hoped it would be.

"How long did Silas say I have to do it?"

"The A-Animus will be effective until next sunrise...and as for your escape, he says as soon as you have Lady Dawn, blow the whistle and he will transport you instantly to Bellarieve."

The thrill of it was almost more than Verian could bear. Tonight, he would claim his Lady Dawn and exact vengeance on the man who had stolen his birthright and his arm.

Mevel gave him a wooden whistle, which sounded silent, but would call Silas when the time came to whisk his Gloria Dawn away on the wind. Among his magic supplies was a curious looking collar.

"Silas says he will work on making you another arm. A…more capable appendage."

"And how is the construction of the dagger?"

If the Animus made Mevel cringe, it was a wonder the mention of the knife didn't knock her out cold.

"It is ready, too."

* * *

He arrived at Faramir just after dawn. He was well hidden in the bushes just a few yards from their front door. With the aid of another charm Silas had provided, no one would be able to see him.

He could see and hear everything. He was so close that when the silver-haired boy dashed out the door the wind from his speed rustled Verian's hair. Soon, his father followed.

Verian had to bite his lip to keep from whispering in triumph, "I've got you now."

* * *

A/N: Those of you who haven't read my past works are probably wondering what the heck Sephseph has to do with all this. Not to worry. He appears next chapter.

Those of you who have read Everglow, remember Verian?

Summer vacation begins Friday. I want to get a chapter a day out for either Motherland or The Marked. It's a good goal that will stretch me. No promises though. ;)

Thank you for your support!


	3. Shadows in the Corner

Motherland - Chapter Three

_The pavilion was wide, eerily spacious and vacant. The storm that raged outside spilled in through arched windows without glass, making the white marble stone a slick gray. Lightning split the sky, roaring in his ears, deafening his sensitive senses with the light and the sound. The bolts couldn't have struck more than a hundred yards away; his hands felt their searing heat…_

_He was in the sky. It seemed, because of the murky fog that blanketed the city below, that this citadel was resting on tumultuous storm clouds, above the lower ones and amid the higher. He knew without being able to see the earth far beneath that he was hundreds upon hundreds of yards into the air._

_The cold was beyond feeling. The icy drops of rain soaked him so completely that he was oblivious to any sensation except for the occasional waves of heat from the lightning. Surrounded by the gray stone and silver stormy skies, with the pressing cold and icy damp, everything was numb, chilling, surreal._

_Everything, except for the bride on the altar, the bodice of her white wedding gown dyed in her own crimson blood that flowed from where a ruby dagger was embedded to the hilt in her heart._

_"You're too late…" the bride cried in anguish with her fading breath. Then, with a hand gloved in ensanguined lace she reached out to him, but a shadow stole the last of her breath._

_

* * *

_

Sephiroth peeked from behind the corner, listening to the patter of tiny footsteps against the tile as a silver blur dove behind the couch. Shaking his head, he dutifully let out a convincingly thoughtful sounding "Hmm…" as he rounded the corner.

The trail was clear; somewhere along the line the little fugitive had escaped outside to prance about in the mud. Sephiroth would have to fix the door. Again. He was beginning to think that there was no security on earth that could contain so free a spirit. Neither unashamed of his tracks nor aware of how their presence spoiled the hunting game, the short figure continued to sidle about the room, finally coming to rest crouched behind the single leg of a small table with a lamp, thinking that the thin pole could hide his body from the Soldier's view.

That was no good. Sephiroth needed him out in the open.

He continued the charade that he was actually searching, getting down on his hands and knees to look under shelves or other furniture that was a considerable distance from the chuckling escapee. The tactic worked. As Sephiroth was just bending down to right a potted plant that he had moved in his exploration, the tiny footsteps resumed at a rapid tempo. Thinking that Sephiroth had been occupied, or perhaps just excited to cut to the height of the thrill of the game, the figure leapt from behind the table to make a mad dash for the back door.

Sephiroth sprung, grabbing his little son and pressing him to his chest, keeping his weight off the boy as he rolled to release the momentum. When Sephiroth righted with his son still snugly in his grasp, the boy was squealing in delight, wriggling happily and clapping his hands. Sephiroth smiled, a small tilt of his lips that was more subtle but no less happy than his son's ear-to-ear grin, and mischievously began to tickle the boy's stomach. He giggled, kicking and trying in vain to squirm out of his father's strong grasp.

When Sephiroth relented, the boy gurgled, contented, and then pressed a hand to his father's bare chest. "Tag. I win, Daddy."

Sephiroth chuckled lightly, rubbing the tip of his nose against his son's smaller one. He didn't mind relinquishing his clear victory. "You got me. Again," he conceded. "I surrender."

Exhausted from the chase, his son slipped to the carpet, lying down there and curling up into himself. Sephiroth lay down on his side beside him, ruffling the silky tufts of moonlight hair that sprawled every which-way on his son's head. "You," he said gently, "should be in bed, Sagno."

Sagno's face contorted into his best grimace. "No! No bed! Not 'leepy."

Sephiroth didn't press the issue for now, content to watch his son roll around on the ground. After a little time, Sagno turned his wide, honey-amber eyes up to his father's. "Sano 'firsty. Daddy get me milk?" He pushed his lower lip out a little into the perfect pout. It was an irresistible puppy-dog face, but it was overkill, and Sephiroth had a feeling that his son knew that too, young though he was.

Sephiroth hefted his son onto his hip and made his way into the kitchen. He was used to being woken up in the middle of the night, (or, more accurately, the early hours of the morning) and having to put Sagno back to bed. The boy was becoming a regular escape artist.

With one hand, as the other was supporting his son, he pulled out a green plastic lidded cup and filled it with milk. Sagno reached for the cup but Sephiroth kept it out of his reach; he wasn't done yet. He took from the cupboard a pinch of cocoa and sugar and a few drops of vanilla to add to the milk. After it was stirred with a straw, he put it in the microwave. Not only would the warm concoction be a delicious treat for the youngling, but it would put him to sleep whether he was sleepy or not. It was a compromise that they both appreciated.

Sephiroth dabbed a drop of the milk on the inside of his wrist and then, when he was satisfied that it wasn't too hot for Sagno, gave it to the boy, who gave up sucking his thumb in favor of the warm chocolate milk.

He set Sagno in his chair at the table and sprinkled a small handful of cereal in front of him before sitting down himself. While Sagno happily munched, Sephiroth sat with only the lamplight and the company of his small son to keep him company in the dark, and reflected.

It had been four years since his family had been reunited; and, for the most part, they had been bliss. Any doubts he had been harboring about his adequacy as a father had quickly been swept away. So he was new at this, but so were his children. For Aidan and Nadiya, who had spent their lives in Hojo's laboratory as the subjects of countless horrific experiments, domestic life came as a welcome but difficult change to adjust to.

But Sagno, who was born just after Sephiroth had found his twin firstborns and saved his wife, was the only one in the family whose life had not been marred by pain and blood. The most pain that Sagno had ever had to endure was a tumble down the stairs, and even then he had his parents and older siblings to catch him and love away the hurt.

Everyone else was still haunted by lingering shadows of the past. Shadows that, for some reason, were becoming more prominent with time instead of fading.

Sagno had finished the milk and much of his cereal, and his eyelids were beginning to droop. "Daddy," he said past a yawn. "I 'leepy now."

"I'll see you in the morning, Sagno," Sephiroth said. "Sweet dreams."

"'Night Daddy."

And just like that, he fell asleep.

Sephiroth picked Sagno up and slowly glided down the halls of his home, not needing the light to find his way to the boy's room. He gently set the boy face-down in his bed, adjusting the blankets around him and then giving him a soft kiss goodnight on his warm cheek.

"I love you," he whispered to his sleeping son. The words were coming easier with every repetition.

Sagno shifted and sighed before falling still. With one last pat on Sagno's silky head, Sephiroth left his son to be.

On the way out he flipped on the night-light just in case Sagno should wake and be frightened. The boy seemed to have inherited his mother's fear of the darkness. The light of the sparkly, star shaped light bulb revealed other shadows in the room.

Aidan, his firstborn son, was curled peacefully in sleep on the floor, with only a pillow for his head and a blanket to cover him. Sephiroth shook his head, smiling. They had given him his own bed—queen sized, comfortable as a dream—but still he often found his son on the floor in Sagno's room. It wasn't an unusual occurrence; nights in Hojo's laboratory had been spent with only his sister's body heat and her soft wings as downy comforters. They slept curled together, both for security and for warmth. On the days when those memories haunted them, Sephiroth would find them together, coping through their unusually keen bond as twin brother and sister.

The only unusual thing about the scenario was the absence of his sister.

He was sure that she _had_ been there. Her pillow and blanket were still beside her brother, both rumpled from her sleeping, and the lush carpet was laying a little flat in the outline of a human body plus two wings.

The light in the bathroom was on, the glow seeping through the small crack where the bottom of the door didn't quite touch the carpet beneath. Sephiroth rapped softly on the door. "Nadiya?" he called worriedly. "Nadi, is that you?"

He heard a few things being shuffled about on the countertop and a sniffle before the door opened. It was his daughter, as he had predicted, her hair and eyes mirrors of her father's. But Sephiroth could see, especially when she stood with the light behind her, that his little angel was becoming less and less of a girl and more and more of a woman. She glowed with a spirit not unlike her mother's; gentle, compassionate, quiet and timid. Every day over the past four years Sephiroth had watched as a little more of Aralyn took her place in her daughter. Despite the lanky awkwardness of early adolescence, Nadiya still held about her a regal aura, a maturity unnatural for one so young.

A maturity, Sephiroth reminded himself, that had been purchased with the total abolition of any childhood she might have experienced. From the moment she was taken to Hojo's laboratory, she had been raised to be an adult.

The twins both bore the stigma of the haunting sorrow of a never-known innocence lost, but in her strong-willed brother, its fruits were a quick temper and driven survival instincts, while in delicate little Nadiya it showed as a mournful wisdom in her eyes, a burden on her shoulders that seldom eased, a tear or a trembling hand for memories of the past.

Nadiya turned her back on her father, her two full, white wings fidgeting softly until they nestled against her shoulder blades, folded close to her body. Sephiroth knew this as a tell-tale sign of agitation. She buried her face in a white washcloth; one that she had soaked and lathered with facial soap so as to give the appearance that she was washing her face. Sephiroth saw past the charade. Her eyes were red and swollen. She had been crying.

"It was a nightmare, wasn't it?" Sephiroth tenderly prodded when she did not respond.

Almost angrily, Nadiya threw the washcloth into the sink, mopping at her face with a dry towel now, dabbing at her eyes more than even her saturated bangs. Sephiroth waited quietly. He knew that Nadiya needed time to think before she would open up to anyone, but he was resolved to be at her side when she was ready.

Finally, after her face was dry and the wet strands of silver hair were tucked behind her ears, she put lotion on her hands, rubbing gently but fervently. Nadiya took good care of her hands, and Sephiroth could understand why. His little angel, perfect though she might have been, had been born without a voice. It was accepted as family history that fate had decreed that Nadiya had to be born with _some_ defect, lest she be too perfect to dwell in the realm of mere mortals.

In many ways, her hands had become her voice. They signed in sign language to communicate, and it was with them that she played the music that she used to express her most heartfelt emotions that even those with voices couldn't put words to.

Her small, soft white hands began to sign. _"I'm sorry, dad."_

"For what?" he asked.

_"I don't want to be weak."_

Sephiroth shook his head and pulled his daughter in close to him. He took both of her hands and folded them neatly in one of his, the gesture having the same effect of the pressing a finger to the lips of a child. _Hush_, he was tenderly saying.

"You are not weak, Nadiya."

She sighed into his chest, then pulled away. He freed her hands so she could speak to him again. _"Most girls my age don't wake up crying from nightmares. It's…childish. Immature."_ Her hands quivered, hating the sign she was about to do next and the word it represented. _"Weak."_

Sephiroth couldn't think of three adjectives that described his daughter _less. _He told her so. She didn't respond.

"_It's nothing, dad. I'm sorry to trouble you._"

"You're not troubling me. I was up anyway."

_"Was Sagno up again?"_

"Yes."

She looked up into his eyes, searching for something. _"But,"_ she ventured slowly. _"That's not why you were up."_

Sephiroth winced despite himself. Nadiya could read him as well as her mother could. He could tell himself that Sagno's small footsteps had awakened him, but he couldn't keep the truth from his wife and daughter.

"I had a nightmare too," Sephiroth said quietly. Then, with a wry smile, "Who's the weak one now?"

_"It was about Mommy, wasn't it? That's the only way it would worry you. That…or one of us kids."_

"It was your mother," he admitted. "But it's over now, and wasn't real in the first place."

_"…Did it happen to be in a castle in the sky?"_

Sephiroth was stunned. "How…?"

_"It was my dream too."_

Sephiroth was reminded of how Aralyn had somehow dreamed of Nibelheim and tried to warn him.

In the corner behind him, just out of his view, something dark stirred, and he could have sworn he heard a dark, malevolent chuckle.

He brushed it aside. Shadows often played with his sensitive vision in the deceitful night.

But why was Nadiya paling as well?

* * *

A/N: This chapter KILLED me to write. Mainly because we see two sides of Sephy in the canon works: good, General Sephy and bad, blow-up-the-world Sephy. I had NO GUIDE for how to portray him as a father. I hope he's not too out of character... In my last books I had change happen (hopefully!!) logically, but this is a stretch that few have dared.

HELP! Criticism desperately needed!

But worry not! Warrior Sephy will make an appearance sooner than you think! (not the blow-up-the-world kind...don't worry)

Next chapter: Vivian and Vincent have a surprise!


	4. Miracle

Chapter Four: Miracle

Sephiroth knew when Vincent had arrived because all three of his children thundered down the stairs and toward the front door. He chuckled and smiled softly, knowing that right about now Vincent would have three speeding bodies collide with him in a shower of hugs and excited yelps. It was seven in the morning, and he could have done with a few more hours of sleep, but he wasn't angry at the loss. It was a treat for the whole family when Vincent and Vivian came to visit.

Aralyn was awakened by the noise, but was not stunned. She simply rolled over onto her back and laughed, her eyes sparkling, her voice like sweet bells. She turned to her husband and smiled radiantly. "Good morning," she said. "Vincent came to visit?" It was a rhetorical question. She stretched her arms above her head, arching her back and kicking the sheets off her body. "A bit earlier than usual," she yawned, but Sephiroth knew that she didn't mind either.

She pulled herself into a sitting position and smiled down at her husband, who had not risen yet. She gave his cheek a tender, playful kiss. "You go greet them. I'll be down in a moment." After planting another quick kiss on her husband's forehead she slid from the bed and made her way to the bathroom, grabbing a bathing robe from a hanger and wrapping it around her white nightgown.

Sephiroth shook his head to dispel the last of the nightmares, forcing a foreboding out of his mind. This was a perfect, peaceful day. The sun shone brightly, the family of birds that had made their home outside Nadiya's window were chirping a whimsical melody, and the mountainous land had never been so fertile and green, the seaside and foothills alike crawling with colorful life. The breeze promised a gentle atmosphere for the day, and the sun's golden rays, warmth.

_"Twelve hours, my nemesis. Enjoy them."_

Something stirred in the bushes beneath the bedroom balcony. He didn't bother to look; it was probably a wild hare or some other harmless little critter. The voice was probably just a lingering shadow from his nightmares.

He silenced the voice that told him that it might not be. Years of living on the battlefield, he told himself, had given him instincts that were not necessary in such a tranquil, idyllic setting as his own home.

He followed the sound of his sons' laughter downstairs.

Vincent had indeed come for a visit along with his bride, Vivian. She, as always, glowed with pleasure to see the children, embracing Nadiya fondly with sisterly affection, exchanging high-fives and fist pounds with Aidan, and hefting little Sagno onto her hip.

Vincent, alarmed, immediately stole Sephiroth's son from his wife. Vivian was displeased, and sent him a small scowl and a helpless sigh, but said nothing.

That was all Sephiroth needed to see to confirm his suspicions about why they had come.

"Good morning, Sephiroth!" Vivian chirped, happy as the dawn.

He smiled softly at her bright enthusiasm. "Good morning." He noticed that his twins had moved on to greet Vincent. The dark man was holding Sagno, struggling to stand as Nadiya threw her arms around his neck in a happy embrace, and thrown several feet to the side as Aidan ran full-force to hug him too. It would be quite a task to first regain his balance from the ambush, and then eventually untangle himself from the mess to arms and wings that welcomed him into their home.

"Vin is here!" Sagno exclaimed joyfully. "And VeeVee too!"

Sephiroth chuckled and lifted his little son off of the gunman. "Yes, Vincent is here."

"We gotta…we gotta get him some _food_! And drink! Vin is 'firsty. VeeVee too."

"That sounds wonderful, Sagno. I'm sure they'd enjoy that." Sephiroth said as he set the toddler on the ground and watched him toddle off toward the kitchen.

With Sagno out to fetch refreshments, Sephiroth properly greeted his guests. "You two look well."

"As do you," Vincent replied, a little more formally than necessary between friends. "And your family."

Vivian smiled for some reason and laced her fingers with Vincent's. "How long has it been since we last visited? I swear Aidan has gained a couple inches," she said.

"Two and five-eighths inches, to be exact," the boy grinned.

Vivian rewarded the accomplishment by ruffling the boy's hair. He seemed slightly put-off by what he secretly called "a childish gesture".

"And Nadiya! What a radiant young woman you've become!"

The winged girl blushed, too flattered even to sign a "thank you".

"It has been a while since your last trip out here," Sephiroth agreed. He didn't ask what had kept them in Midgar for so long; he was pretty sure that he knew.

"Is Aralyn here?" Vincent asked.

"She'll be down in a minute. She just got up."

"Oh, I'm so sorry if we woke you!" Vivian hurriedly apologized.

Sephiroth chuckled and waved the offence away. "Come on in. You know how much our family likes your visits…any time of day."

Vincent hurriedly seated his wife on the front room couch, Vivian looking slightly perturbed by his insistence. Sephiroth's family joined the couple, Aidan in the oversized recliner, Nadiya in the rocking chair her father had carved for her, and Sephiroth himself in a kitchen chair.

Sagno brought his favorite crackers, and shared by sprinkling crumbs in everyone's lap. "Some for Vin, some for VeeVee, Nadi, Daddy, A…some left for Mommy too." When everyone had a share of powdered cheddar crackers, he made himself comfortable in his father's lap, on top of the snack he had fetched for him.

"Well," Vivian chirped. "To business as usual?" The children were at her side before the small packages were extracted from Vincent's cloak.

It was tradition for Vivian to bring a treat for each of the children every time she came; a practice that she had faithfully continued since she first met the twins as wounded refugees all those years ago, before their family had been reunited. They were never big, and almost never extravagant, but the simple gifts were precious treasures to all of the children.

Nadiya received sheet music for a piano solo and blank notation paper for her own compositions, Aidan got a new sharpening stone for his blade, and for Sagno there was a box of his favorite cookies: fudge frosted, chocolate, chocolate chip with chocolate sprinkles.

Sephiroth noticeably winced at the cookies. He had tried to explain exactly what they did to the already hyperactive child's energy levels, but Vivian had waved him off. There would be havoc in the house as long as those cookies survived.

The children said happy, genuine "thank you"s, Sagno's coming through a mouthful of cookie.

Sephiroth allowed the last of his fears to be swept away by the innocence and joy on his children's faces.

This time, he didn't even hear as dark hands tampered with the locks on his door.

* * *

"How is Midgar?" Aralyn asked Vivian after a warm, welcoming embrace. "Well enough off to keep you two holed up there for so long without a visit?" she prodded smilingly.

Vivian laughed at the kindly jab. "Reconstruction is moving along quickly. Everything is so new and exciting! They just put in a water park," she hinted, winking at the kids, "and I figured it would make a nice little day trip."

Three heads bobbed enthusiastically, the boys yipping their pleasure. A trip into town was a rare event. It had to be planned with great care, as hostility toward their family was still lethally high, but with hair dye, sunglasses, and aliases no one would recognize them as Sephiroth's children, and a day trip into society would be more than possible.

Nadiya's wings flitted nervously, but Vivian reassured her. "We'll make it work, sweetie. Don't worry!" Hiding her wings was usually the biggest concern, but over the years they had found creative ways to do it.

"…If, of course, it's all right with your parents," Vivian added slyly.

Sephiroth was faced with three pairs of huge puppy-dog eyes.

Sephiroth had harbored very few qualms in the first place, but put on a frown for show. Aralyn saw through his ruse and playfully, lightly smacked his side. "Of course! It sounds wonderful."

"VeeVee and I go slide!" Sagno exclaimed happily, moving his hands along a steep, imaginary slope. "Vrooooooom…weeeeee!"

"Vin and Sagno can slide," Vivian gently corrected. "VeeVee can't slide."

The children's faces fell, not out of disappointment for time with the gunman but worry for his wife. Sephiroth smiled, and Aralyn didn't miss it. He knew the reason they came would come out now. She looked to her husband inquiringly, but he would let Vivian betray her secret.

"Why not?" Aidan asked.

Vincent was the one to spill the beans. "Pregnant women aren't allowed on the rides."

Silence.

Confusion.

Shock.

Vivian took the initiative to clear things up for the children. "I," she began, but stopped to take her husband's hand, "I mean, _we_, are going to have a baby."

A beat of silence.

Then laughter.

"Vivian!" Aralyn exclaimed. "That's _wonderful_! Congratulations!"

There were the beginnings of tears in Vivian's eyes as she looked to her husband in joy. They had waited years for this. They were probably having trouble believing it themselves; maybe they wouldn't believe it fully until the infant was in their arms.

"Why didn't you tell us sooner?" Aidan asked, slightly hurt by having been kept in the dark.

Sephiroth worked to wave the question away. The children hadn't known how much their friends had struggled to have a child. They hadn't been told about Vivian's miscarriages. They probably waited for so long to make sure that the baby was safe, to be sure not to give the children false hope in a new baby that wouldn't survive the month.

"How far along are you?" he asked.

Vincent answered. "Six months."

"And the gender?" Aralyn inquired.

"A secret, even to us."

"_So that's why Vincent is so extra-careful for Vivian?" _Nadiya signed.

The gunman held up his hands helplessly. "He's new to this, dear," Aralyn said. "Seph was the same way."

"Vin's going to be a daddy!" Sagno sang. "And VeeVee a mommy!"

_"You'll let me be the baby's sister?_" Nadiya asked. "_Maybe babysit too?_"

"I hope it's a boy! I need someone to train with! …But a girl would be cool too, I guess." Aidan thought aloud.

"New baby!!" Sagno shrieked happily.

"Yes," Vivian said in reverent awe, resting a hand on her stomach. "Our baby…our new little baby..."

* * *

"You seem awfully uncomfortable with the idea of a child," Sephiroth said to Vincent when he found the gunman outside by himself.

Vincent scoffed lightly. "It's just the thought…me, a father? It's obvious that Vivian will be a wonderful mother but me…?" He looked down at his hands, his gauntlet, slowly clenching and relaxing his fingers. "Fathers are supposed to be…" he paused, searching for words, but gave up, shaking his head. "Not like I am."'

"Vivian wouldn't let anyone else help her to raise the child, and you know it. She thinks you'll do just fine. She wouldn't trust you with her baby if she didn't."

Vincent sighed. "I know."  
"Do you trust her judgment?"

"Yes."

"Then let it go."

"…All right."

Inside they heard their wives converse happily as they prepared dinner. Pots and pans rattled, extra chairs groaned as they were dragged to the table to accommodate their guests, the fine china tinkled as it was gently set on the table. It would be a fine celebration tonight.

"That's not all," Sephiroth stated.

"…Let it go." Vincent said darkly, almost hostilely, as anger flared in his eyes. Sephiroth knew his friend well enough to say that fear was behind it.

"All right," Sephiroth conceded, respecting the gunman's wish for privacy. "Congratulations," he said again, and then walked to go inside.

"It's just…"

Sephiroth stopped, straining his hearing to listen to his friend's quiet voice.

"What if…what if the child isn't actually mine?"

Sephiroth turned in surprise, knowing that Vincent couldn't have been alluding to infidelity.

"…What if it's Chaos's?"

* * *

A/N: Is Flutist dead? The easy answer: yes. There's nothing else to say. I have NO time anymore. I'm in block. I'm so overwhelmed with stuff that it's crushing my creativity. My motivation has gone down the toilet. I'm so sorry...I haven't given up! I still want to write! I suffer from lack of me-writing-random-things time! (My school essays started sucking around the time I was forced to put these fics on the back burner. Coincidence? I think not.)

So...

I'M SO SORRY!!! (faceplants and grovels) BUT THERE'S NOTHING I CAN DO!!!

At Christmas time I'm out of some of my major-workload classes. So...more time. Writing will be easier then, as I'll have more time and college apps will be in and DONE and...etc.

So I am proud of a lot of stuff I've done, but NOT this chapter. I basically forced myself to do it (forcing is never good when writing) so that you all could see that I'm not dead.

So...demon baby? ^_^

Reviews will be used to fuel the writing-mobile.

Flodden Field is a story I've been squeaking out, as I'm not in block for that one. (How does that work, exactly?) Anyway, for those of you who liked chapter 58 of Broken Wings...go ahead. Beware of tragedy, however.


	5. Nadiya's Defiance

Motherland - Chapter Five

_It hadn't been more than a year ago that the boys had found their little corner of the mountain. It was the most horrible week that Nadiya could remember since moving into their home. The boys came innocently, seeking high thrills and outdoor adventure, but their very presence was a danger. Word of their family could not be allowed to leak back into Midgar and Edge, or they would be hunted. Rumors had almost killed them all the last time. _

_Her father dreaded a confrontation above all else. He feared that if they strayed too close, he would have to choose between the boys' lives and the secrecy his own family needed to survive. _

_"You wouldn't kill them…would you, Daddy?" she had asked, signing with trembling hands. "If they did find us, you could find some other way…?"_

_Sephiroth shook his head, anguished. "That's the problem, Nadiya…I don't know if I could."_

_It was the first serious family talk they'd had. Around the dinner table that night, they all discussed what could be done. Nadiya and her mother begged the men to let the boys be, play as they willed, so long as they weren't a threat. Aidan fought, saying it was too much of a risk, that they could be frightened off the mountain with a few clever pranks. Her father was indecisive._

_For the sake of their father, they did not discuss what they would do if the boys found them, but everyone knew what had to happen. _

_Nadiya's pleading tears for the boys' sakes swayed her father, and a stalemate was reached: the adventure-seekers would be allowed to roam as they willed under the conditions that either Sephiroth or Aidan was always close behind them, watching their every movement. _

_No one was happy with the necessity of such a strict vigil, and Nadiya was uncomfortable that the boys' privacy had to be invaded. In the end, no one was satisfied._

_The week was silent and tense. Fear kept Nadiya holed up in her home, watching the late summer flowers and berries waste away before she could gather them. Even if the boys hiked miles from the home itself, she would not step across the threshold of their warm stronghold until they were off the mountain._

_They had left in a week, and the whole family heaved a sigh of relief, but it was a short-lived respite._

_While weeding the garden one day, Aralyn had happened to spot a flash of hunter's orange and reflector vests. Hurriedly as she could, she silently rushed her children inside, clasping her hand over Sagno's mouth so the unsuspecting toddler could not make a sound. _

_Nadiya cried as she watched her father take his Masamune down from its place on the hearth for the first time since they'd been reunited. She flung herself at her father's legs, grasping tight, sobbing, begging him without words to stay. It was then that she saw a side of her father that she had never witnessed, the side that had lain dormant for all those blissful years: the General, the master of the battlefield. He pushed her aside, unresponsive to her pleas, though his eyes were anguished. "Hide," he barked, and it was an order._

_Aralyn carried her daughter back into the bedroom where they crouched in the corner, whispering assurances to her children._

_"He won't do it unless he has no choice." But if the boys were close enough to be seen from their home, chances were that the boys could easily see them._

_Her father had been gone all that day and night. When he returned, ragged with stress, he stated his verdict._

_"By some miracle, they didn't see us. I…There is no threat. For tonight."_

_But through the next night, the next week, and the next months, there were. _

_The boys had taken a liking to the scenery and returned often. Sometimes they brought girls, but never the same ones twice. The boys became a permanent, frequent threat._

_So much so, that as time went on without incident, the family became lax and forgiving of them. They were just teenage boys, aiming to have a little fun away from the overcrowded city every once in a while. _

_They looked harmless, Nadiya decided, and she would no longer be ruled by fear of them. She told her father so one night on the veranda as the two of them watched the smoke of the boys' campfire ascend to the stars._

_"Nadiya," he sighed sadly. "I wish you were afraid. I wish you would be as terrified of them as I am. They are dangerous, angel, and I don't want you near them. Do you understand?"_

_She nodded, but for the first time in her life, decided that her father just didn't know what he was talking about. She didn't know how right her father was, and how dangerous her defiance could become._

_The night she snuck out of the house, there were four figures in the clearing, huddled around the campfire. Nadiya knew the area well; well enough to navigate by the light of the few stars left unveiled by roiling storm clouds. (It was her river; she often fished there with her brother.) When she was only ten feet away from the campsite, she knelt in the bushes, not even rustling the leaves. She had learned to melt into the shadows from her father._

_Hidden in the foliage, she learned every face. _

_The first figure was slender, and dressed in dark, warm clothing that covered sallow, sickly skin. He was always silent, and moved breathlessly, slipping about without a sound. I was this boy who set up the tents, tended to the fire, and cleared away stray twigs with uncanny grace. Nadiya was mystified by this dark figure, and she decided to call him Shade, for she would never know him any better than she would understand the writhing shadows._

_Wasp was quite the opposite. He lay barefooted on his back, shoes cast aside, lounging by the fire like a contented cat. His hair was brown streaked with a violent yellow (it was this pattern that gave Nadiya the idea for the name) and he wore no color that was not bright enough to blind. He spoke often, laughed even oftener, guffawing with no provocation. He wore some chains around his neck, and as he shook with mirth, he jingled. It was a funny sound that made her hair stand on end._

_Raven Eyes was a happy medium between his two friends. He worked and lounged, talked and was silent. He was dressed in a faded, biker's leather, rich in scars from his adventures. Even his face was etched with pale pink lines. His hair was black and slicked back, heavily greased, and he had an arrogant tilt to the way he held himself. He chewed gum, loudly, smacking on the stuff constantly. He sometimes blew bubbles to amuse himself, and then, just as quickly, popped them. Nadiya named him for his dark, abysmal, foreboding obsidian eyes._

_She didn't know where the fourth one had gone. It was late, and she was tired. Deciding that she'd had enough adventure for the night, and satisfied that she knew most of the boys, she crept back into her home and slept free of nightmares._

_It became easier and easier to sneak out every night. The fear faded, the threat they once held to her family gone, and before she knew what had happened, she found herself looking forward to her secret visits to these denizens of a world far outside her own. She was there when they told their secrets, she heard every one of their stories, and over time, she began to know __**them**__._

_It was easy, so very easy, to not be afraid, and see a little piece of the society her family had been exiled from._

_Until she grew careless._

_Shade knew the shadows as well as Nadiya did. She often saw him glance at her and wondered if he saw, but if he did, he never acted upon it and let her be. One night, she forgot to account that only Raven Eyes and Wasp were by the fire. Foolishly, she did not even consider that perhaps Shade had found her, and was at her back, a heavy mountain-climbing rope and a blunt bludgeon of a log in his hands. _

_Only when he seized her did she realize the danger. These were not boys. These were men, toughened by adventure, strong as bulls. They had knives, they had pistols, they could hurt her, they could __**kill**__ her._

_She was alone, at night, miles from her father and brother._

_And now she was the mercy of her three captors, without even a voice to scream for help._

_

* * *

_

A/N: Uh oh....

So...Christmas Vacation. I've been writing. Anyone miss me? ^-^

Next chapter: Romeo - Of Rose Petals and Thorns


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